Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) (22 page)

“Over a hundred recent hookups,” Sarah said quickly.

“Damn. Still too many,” Anna said as John hooted.

“Bingo. An obit, two years ago.” He read, “’Margaret Sutton. Survived by son, Joel Sutton, of London, and sister, Mary Lampkin, seventy-eight, of Gravesend, Kent.”

“Address?”

“Checking… got it,” John said. “Seventeen Saxon Way, Gravesend. Taxes current. But National Health shows her widowed and resident at a nursing home with senile dementia.”

“But planning a recovery,” Sarah added. “A new cable hookup at that address was paid for by Joel Sutton.”

“Brilliant,” Anna said. “Nearest police station?”

Sarah pulled up a map. “There. The North Kent Station.”

“Helipad?” Anna asked.

“No,” Sarah said. “But there’s a car park.”

“Lou,” Anna said. “Ring North Kent Police to cordon off their car park. They should expect a landing in fifteen minutes.”

“On it,” Lou said.

“Harry. Ring the CO19 lads with the site. Request a chopper for us as well.”

Anna turned back to the technicians. “Sarah, send the—”

“Maps and photos to your phone. Done,” Sarah said. “I sent it to the CO19 lads as well.”

Anna nodded thanks and turned. “All right, people, let’s get to the roof.”

They raced out the door. As they rushed down the hall, Anna turned to speak to Ward and stopped in her tracks.

“Gillian, what are you doing?”

“Following you, obviously.”

“Out of the question.”

“Now you listen—”

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t negotiable, and I’ve no time for argument. You’re staying here.”

Anna turned and called to a young man walking down the hall. He hurried over.

“Wentworth,” Anna said, “escort Mrs. Farnsworth back to the command center and place her in Sarah’s care. Tell Sarah Mrs. Farnsworth is to stay there until she hears otherwise from me.”

The young agent nodded as Anna turned back to Mrs. Farnsworth.

“Gillian, the command center will be in touch with us at all times, so you’ll know what’s going on. That’s the best I can do,” Anna said, then turned and led the team away.

Gillian stood enraged, watching their backs. They’d bungled things and now had the cheek to suggest she wait patiently to be “informed,” as if they hadn’t bungled that as well. Sod that.

“Ma’am? Mrs. Farnsworth?”

Gillian roused and stared at the young man.

“Please come with me,” he said, taking her arm.

Gillian saw a door marked Women nearby. She faked a stumble, then bent slightly at the waist and clutched her midsection.

“Ma’am? What’s wrong?” Wentworth asked.

“All the… stress and exci… excitement…” Gillian gasped, moving toward the toilet. “I… I’m ill.”

Wentworth allowed Gillian to lead him through the door and stood uncomfortably in the center of the women’s restroom as Gillian stumbled into a stall and let the door swing shut behind her. She made horrible retching sounds.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?” Wentworth asked.

“I… I… think you better get… get help. Ge… get… Sarah. Ple… please hurry.”

Wentworth raced to the door of the toilet and looked out at the closed door of the command center, down the corridor. He looked about for help, but it was lunch hour, and the hallway was deserted. He called Sarah’s name several times, then reached for his cell phone just as another strangled cry came from the stall. The command center was only fifty feet away. He pocketed his phone and raced for the door.

***

Gillian was on her feet and out of the stall as soon as she heard the toilet door swinging closed. She caught it just before it closed and held it open a crack, watching Wentworth’s back as he rushed away. She timed her exit as he reached the control room door, bursting from the toilet and across the hall to the stairwell. The stairwell door opened with a loud clunk, and Gillian heard Wentworth’s angry shout through the closing stairwell door as she rushed down the single flight to the ground floor.

The ground-level exit was prominently marked
EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY—ALARMED DOOR
. Gillian burst through it without slowing, and the piercing wail sent her already racing pulse even higher. She raced around the building to find Daniel in the waiting area where she had left him only minutes before.

“How far to Gravesend?” she gasped, out of breath as she slid into the rear seat.

“Are you all right, mum?” Daniel asked, his concern obvious.

“I’m fine, Daniel. But quickly. Gravesend?”

“Do you have an address?”

“Seventeen Saxon Way, Gravesend.”

The old driver nodded. “Me wife used to visit a friend out that way before she passed. It’s maybe three-quarters of an hour. A bit less if I push.”

“See that you do. We’re off to get our Cassie.”

He turned to the wheel, and she was thrown back in her seat as tires squealed.

17 Saxon Way
Gravesend, Kent

Farley watched porn, pants bulging as he debated a wank. Bloody Kraut. Leading a bloke on. He got up and stalked to the living room, parting the drapes. Slip a taste and slap her quiet? If Braun twigged, what would he do? Cut his bloody bonus, that’s what. Bugger. He let the curtains fall and moved back to his porn.

***

“We can’t worry about her now, Sarah,” Anna said into the phone as she peered between the blinds at the house across the street. “And I don’t think she’ll go to the media given that she knows we’re closing on Cassie’s kidnappers.”

Anna’s radio crackled. “One to Walsh. Positive ID on Farley.”

“I have to go, Sarah,” Anna said into the phone, hanging up to key the radio mike.

“I saw him, One. Anyone else?”

“Negative. Infrared shows one heat signature. Our lads have a good angle on the window in the back of the garage. There is no vehicle.”

“Hold positions; I will advise.”

The front door and attached garage of Braun’s safe house faced the street, with the backyard enclosed by a fence. Throughout the neighborhood, service alleys separated residents’ backyards from those of their neighbors on adjacent streets. Fourteen Saxon Way, diagonally across from the safe house, was vacant, and Anna’s team had entered unseen from the service alley. She stood now in the living room, a sniper in the bedroom above and an assault team in the alley directly behind number seventeen.

Anna stepped back from the window as Lou moved to take her place.

“They must have shielded the implant,” she said. “We got the flicker when that was somehow compromised. But if they shielded a whole room, Cassie and Braun might be inside. But where’s their car?”

“Farley stared one way,” Ward said. “He’s expecting someone. My bet’s Braun.”

Standing nearby, Reyes grunted agreement.

“Take Farley out,” Dugan said. “Save Cassie and wait for Braun.”

Anna looked doubtful. “Braun may have some sort of prearranged “all clear” signal before he returns. If Cassie’s with him, we risk losing them both. Taking out Farley’s not worth the risk of losing both Cassie and any chance of sweating Braun.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about Farnsworth going to the media,” Lou said from the window.

“Bloody hell,” Anna said as she joined him to see a poorly disguised Gillian Farnsworth approach a nearby bus stop.

“What can we do now?” Dugan asked.

“Nothing,” Anna said. “If we try to pull her in, Farley will spot us for sure, especially if she makes a fuss. All we can do is pray Braun develops myopia. Harry,” Anna said over her shoulder, “when it hits the fan, go collect Mrs. Bloody Farnsworth.”

***

Gillian Farnsworth sat at the bus stop in a head scarf and dark glasses. Sufficient, she was sure. She’d be the last person Braun expected.

They’d arrived before Daniel’s projection, and it had taken all her persuasive powers to get the driver to agree to drop her and park well away to await her call. She was unsure what to do but trusted it would become obvious. She peeked over her shades. She could hardly do worse than the “professionals,” after all. It was obvious their priority was Braun, not Cassie.

***

Braun returned the clerk’s smile, though he hardly felt cordial. The selection was abysmal, and his cart was piled with food he detested. He rolled it out to the van, parked between the supermarket and the chemist shop where he earlier bought supplies for removing the implant.

Braun loaded the supplies and pulled out of the parking lot, turning away from the safe house to trace a meandering path through the surrounding neighborhood, alert to anyone following. Good tradecraft was always necessary, even when one was sure of no surveillance. He smiled. Or perhaps especially when one was sure of no surveillance.

He completed a series of random turns and was just about to head for the safe house when he passed Kairouz’s car. It was parked in plain sight on the side of the road, the driver leaning against the side and smoking his pipe. What the hell was the old kike doing here? Coincidence? He didn’t believe in coincidence. But if it was some sort of trap, why was he parked in the open? Braun continued, scanning his surroundings with even more care than usual.

***

Farley rubbed himself through his pants. Braun would likely dawdle, picking wine and other Frenchified crap. Not like a proper bloke who’d grab a few cases of Guinness and some grub. Farley had time. And he’d thought on the virgin thing. No problem. She could give him a gobble, then take it up the bum.

She blinked up at the light.

“You need a stretch.” He smiled as he cut the tape on her wrists and ankles.

“Th… thank you.”

“We should be friends, Cassie. Nice to each other, like.”

“I… I guess so.”

“Good,” he said, unbuckling.

She drew away, but he grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand and pushed down his pants with the other.

“Here’s a new friend then. Come on. Give him a kiss.”

***

Braun continued his circuitous route, confidence returning as each unnecessary detour failed to reveal a tail. Then he spotted Gillian Farnsworth at the bus stop. How’d she find them? That idiot Sutton must have let something slip to the Coutts hag, who then told Farnsworth. Sitting in plain sight in that ridiculous disguise was proof enough she was acting alone. Even the police weren’t that incompetent.

However she’d found him, she was a complication, bound to call the police when she spotted him. But he had to get the laptop and take care of Farley and the girl. She turned toward him, then looked away without recognition. Good. She’d be confused when he turned into the drive and likely delay calling the police. He’d finish his business inside and be gone, two minutes tops. He’d put a bullet in her head on the way out. Even if she’d already called, he’d have plenty of time before the cops showed up.

He turned into the drive, his plan in place, to be undone by an earsplitting scream from 17 Saxon Way.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cassie tried to stay calm, remembering the secret things Mrs. Farnsworth taught her. She chanted to herself in the dark, comforted by the words and the rigid sliver concealed between cupped palms. Then he was there—all kind words and a mean smile. She felt a sharp pain as he yanked her by the hair and shoved her face toward his ugly, swollen thing. She fought down her terror and lived the rhyme:

Jab it in deep

Right to the end

Knickers to knees

Then run like the wind

Farley screamed when she drove the needle through his penis. He groped himself with both hands, and Cassie jerked his pants down and scooted away. Farley lunged and fell forward, his clawing fingers just brushing her as the needle snagged the carpet, tethering him in place by his member.

Cassie burst from the closet and raced through the house. She found the front door locked tight with a keyed dead bolt and retraced her steps, racing past the bedroom where Farley bellowed. She rushed through the kitchen toward the door to the garage, but the sound of the garage-door opener brought her up short. She darted into the pantry, making herself small against shelves to squeeze the door closed to a crack just as Uncle Karl burst in from the garage, gun drawn, rushing toward Farley’s voice.

As Uncle Karl disappeared into the hallway, Cassie bolted through the open kitchen door just as the big garage door kissed the concrete. The windowed back door was also locked with a keyed lock. Heart pounding, Cassie mashed the wall control and raced to the big garage door. She fell to her hands and knees as the door inched upward, intent on the widening opening.

***

Farley held up bloody pants with one hand and gripped his Glock with the other.

“You get her?” he asked.

“You lost her? You bloody imbecile.”

“She stabbed me. You must—”

Braun heard the garage-door opener and cursed as he raced back through the kitchen and around the van. The rising door was eighteen inches off the concrete, and Cassie’s feet disappeared beneath it. He thought quickly. The Farnsworth bitch would rush to the girl. He’d drop them both and drag the bodies inside. Then he’d deal with Farley and be away before the cops arrived. There was time still. He dropped to one knee, waiting for the rising door to reveal his targets.

Two Minutes Earlier
Across the street at 14 Saxon Way
Gravesend, Kent

“One. Can your man wound him?” Anna asked into her throat mike as the van turned in.

“If he gets out before the door closes. And the house?”

“Have your lads crash it on your shot.”

“Roger,” he said.

A scream split the air, and Anna watched Gillian Farnsworth stand and rush forward.

“God damn it,” Anna said. “Stand down, One.”

Anna turned, but Harry was already moving.

***

Harry overtook her in the drive as the garage door closed. He grabbed her arm.

“Come along, luv. Off the street.”

Gillian turned. “Let me go, you bloody fool. Cassie’s in there.”

“And we’ll save her if you don’t muck it up,” Harry said, pulling her along.

They both turned at the sound of the rising door to see a blond head appear. Cassie wriggled free, and Gillian flattened Harry’s nose with an elbow worthy of an NBA point guard and bolted. He rushed after, blood pulsing from his nose as he drew his gun and focused on the door, alert to pursuit.

“Get her across the street!” Harry yelled to Gillian, moving to shield them. He saw Braun’s feet and fired, cursing as the feet disappeared and the big garage door reversed course. He backed after his charges, gun trained toward the threat.

***

Mrs. Farnsworth held Cassie, whispering reassurance. Despite her outward calm, Gillian Farnsworth simmered. Anna saw it in her eyes as she touched the girl’s bruised face. Only Cassie’s need was containing that rage. Anna turned back to the task at hand.

“Good work, Harry,” Anna said. “They’ve no leverage now, and they’ll be rattled.”

“What’s the plan?” Ward asked.

“We’ll let them stew a bit until they’re ready to deal,” Anna said. “With any luck, they’ll surrender, and we can separate them—play one against the other.”

The men nodded, then everyone looked toward the windows at the sound of gunfire from Braun’s hideout.

“Bloody hell,” Anna said. “Now what?”

“I think, Agent Walsh,” Reyes said, “someone is securing a monopoly on marketable information.”

“Crash the house,” Anna yelled into her mike.

***

Braun was angry but not rattled. He fully intended to surrender—after he’d taken care of things. The laptop was on the living-room coffee table, with the programmed destruction of the hard drive in progress.

“I finally got it out,” Farley said as he limped in. “Where is that little bitch?”

Farley was oblivious, having left Cassie’s pursuit to Braun to sequester himself in the bathroom, preoccupied with his punctured dick.

“She escaped, you idiot. And we’re surrounded.”

“What?” Farley limped to the window as Braun mulled options.

With the girl free, he had only information to trade. He had a bit of negotiating time, perhaps as much as twenty-four hours before the next attack, then the value of his information would plummet as the body bags were stacked. Farley knew little, but the authorities wouldn’t know that. They might waste valuable time on the idiot, a costly delay for Braun. He drew his gun. He had to clarify the situation for them.

Farley peered out, his back turned. “I don’t see—”

He dropped as he saw Braun’s reflection in the windowpane, just before the
sphut
,
sphut
of the silenced pistol and the sound of breaking glass. Farley scrambled, popping up behind the sofa to return fire, his Glock booming. Braun crawled unseen behind an armchair and covered the only door just as Farley fired at Braun’s last position and ran. He was framed in the doorway when Braun’s bullet shattered his spine. He pitched forward, his Glock clattering on the hardwood as Braun stepped into the hall and shot him twice in the head.

Braun returned to find the computer done, the screen black, just as projectiles crashed through the windows. How unnecessary, he thought, tossing his gun to the floor and flopping down on the sofa, hands over his ears, eyes shut. The flash bangs were followed by splintering wood. So bloody predictable it was hardly a challenge.

“I’m unarmed. I surrender,” he called.

***

“What now?” Dugan asked.

Farley sprawled in a bloody pool. Braun was perched on a straight-back chair in the dining room, bound hand and foot and under guard.

“With a firearm-related fatality,” Anna said, “the locals will document the scene. Our request for Braun will go through channels, but we can question him now, while we wait.”

Ward walked in. “Where’s Harry?”

“With Cassie and Mrs. Farnsworth,” Anna said. “He’ll see them home.”

Ward nodded as she turned to the uniformed officer guarding Braun.

“You can go, Constable,” Anna said. “Thank you.”

“Glad to help, Agent Walsh,” said the cop as he left.

“
Agent
Walsh is it?” Braun said. “And you played the slut so well. Experience? And Dugan’s an agent as well? Bravo. I’ve never been outfoxed before.”

Anna smiled. “Yet here you sit, trussed up like a bloody Christmas goose.”

“A temporary setback.”

“Oh really?” she asked.

“Don’t be tedious, Anna. You know you need my help, and I’m not unwilling to give it.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Immunity and a private jet, of course.”

“Not bloody likely,” Anna said.

Braun shrugged.

“Let’s just beat it out of him,” suggested Dugan.

Braun laughed. “You pathetic amateur. I’m trained to tolerate harsher methods than you lot are allowed. By the way, when can I see a lawyer?”

Ward grabbed Dugan as he lunged, and tugged him into the hall.

***

Reyes thought Dugan’s suggestion was eminently sensible, and he followed as Ward wrestled Dugan into the hallway. Ward gave Reyes a look over his shoulder and then ignored him to concentrate on Dugan.

“Tom. Control yourself or leave,” Ward said.

“That son of—”

“Like it or not, we play by the rules,” Ward said. “We don’t beat suspects or hook jumper cables to their balls. Remember that.”

“Suspect? He’s not a suspect. We know the bastard’s behind this, and people—more people—are gonna die if he doesn’t talk, so maybe we just need to remember red is positive and black is negative.”

“God damn it, Tom. We don’t—”

Dugan held up his hands in surrender. “All right. All right. I’ll control myself,” he said.

Ward gave him an appraising look, then nodded, leading Dugan back into the room. Reyes followed. He was beginning to like this Dugan.

***

The three men returned to the dining room, trailed by a local policeman.

“Harry Albright?” asked the cop, directing his query at the group.

“Across the street,” Anna said.

The cop keyed his mike. “Colin. George here. Is Albright, the MI5 bloke, near you?”

“Right here,” came the reply.

“A friend of his at Metro called,” the cop said into his radio. “He hasn’t been able to get through on his cell but asked us to pass the word that some bugger named Kairouge hung himself. Said he figured Albright would want to know.”

“He heard, George.”

“OK. Thanks, mate.” As George left the room, a peal of laughter shattered the silence.

“Now this makes the cheese more binding,” Braun said. “Kairouz dead. In a fit of remorse, no doubt. I’m sure my lawyer—”

Dugan was faster than Ward this time. He knocked Braun to the floor and was over him in a flash, cocking his fist again as Ward and Lou wrestled him away. Dugan screamed abuse and kicked at Braun with adrenaline-fueled rage as he struggled in the men’s grasp. Lou pressed a hard knuckle behind Dugan’s ear, and he slumped.

“Wha… what the hell was that?” Dugan asked a moment later as Ward helped Braun to the chair.

“Subjection pressure point,” Lou said. “We need the bastard conscious, Tom.”

Braun grinned up with bloody teeth. “Enjoy that, Dugan? It changes nothing. Kairouz hung himself up like a fat, rotten Christmas ornament, and now I’m untouchable. And the price of information has risen. Take a few minutes to consider a reasonable offer, why don’t you all? But not too long. Tick. Tick. Tick.”

14 Saxon Way
Gravesend, Kent

Cassie clutched Gillian’s hands. “Is Poppa all right?”

“I’m sure he is, dear. I’ll just go straighten this out,” Gillian said, gently freeing her hands. “Agent Albright,” she called.

Harry entered tentatively, unsure if they’d overheard the radio.

“Agent Albright. Stay with Cassie. I need a word with Agent Walsh.”

“Ah… I don’t know—”

“Thank you,” Gillian said.

She maintained her composure until she got outside, then tears blurred her vision as she crossed the street in a stumbling run, praying she’d misunderstood. She walked into number seventeen and stopped, staring at Farley’s body in a pool of blood, his gun nearby on the hardwood floor beside a numbered marker as technicians photographed the scene. Then she heard Braun’s odious, mocking voice from a doorway down the hall, so like another she’d silenced long ago.

“…changes nothing. Kairouz hung himself up like a fat, rotten Christmas ornament, and now I’m untouchable. And…”

In that horrible moment, she knew it was true that Braun had somehow killed the noblest man she’d ever known. Suddenly she knew what she must do, drawn to the door like a mongoose to a cobra, scooping up Farley’s gun from the floor on the way.

“You bloody arsehole!” she screamed as she rushed into the room.

She was Daisy now, firing point-blank, the round punching into him. Recoil spoiled her aim, and the next shot went wild as the slide popped open, the Glock empty. She charged, the gun a club, and it took both Ward and Lou to restrain her.

The next thing Daisy remembered was Anna’s voice in her ear.

“Cassie needs you now,” said the voice, and rage abated, replaced with a strange emptiness. Daisy searched for Gillian as she was led away between two constables, afraid her wonderful life was lost forever.

***

Braun lay faceup, frothy blood bubbling from his bare chest. He was blue.

“Sucking chest wound,” Lou said. “No exit. Hit a rib maybe. Gotta seal it.”

“Tom,” Ward said. “The bedroom. I saw some duct tape there.”

Dugan rushed out as Anna called medevac. When he returned, Ward taped the wound, and they sat Braun up against the wall. He quickly improved—and sneered.

“Bravo,” Braun said. “Is this where I’m overcome by gratitude and tell all?”

Lou looked at the others and jerked his head toward the door.

“ETA on the chopper?” he asked in the hall.

“Fifteen minutes,” Anna said. “Will he make it?”

“Probably,” Lou said. “Not that it matters much now.”

She nodded. “By the time he gets out of surgery, we’ll be up to our bums in lawyers. And it may be too late anyway.”

“Unless he has a change of heart,” Lou said, “near-death experience and all. Pity we can’t ask, seeing as how we must help the locals prepare a landing area for the chopper.”

Lou turned to Dugan. “Can you ask him, Tom? Now mind you, he’s not to be mistreated—though he may well claim you did, there being no witnesses and all.”

Anna objected. “It should be one of us. Tom’s not a trained interrogator.”

Ward shook his head. “No, Anna. Lou’s right. Braun’s not worried about us, but Tom’s a credible threat.”

Anna looked at Dugan. “Can you do it?”

Dugan’s eyes left no doubt. “Oh yeah,” he said softly.

Reyes spoke for the first time. “May I suggest that it may seem more credible to Braun if it appears that
Señor Dugan
has slipped away to question Braun on his own?”